Here Come the Sons

Sometimes the people who should know the most about the benefits of protecting history know the least. James McCartney, Paul McCartney’s thirty-four-year-old son, has told the BBC that he and the other Beatle sons have considered creating a band called “The Beatles—The Next Generation.” Set aside the possibility that this is a particularly sadomasochistic April Fools’ joke, and you have, instead, a puzzling train of thought that cannot possibly stay on the tracks.

It’s not just that the Beatles’ offspring—McCartney, who is beginning to embark on a solo career; George’s son Dhani, who has recorded with a band called thenewno2 and, more recently, helped to develop a guitar app based on his father’s work; John’s son Sean, who has been a moderately successful solo artist and is now part of a duet act, The Ghost of a Saber Tooth Tiger, with his model girlfriend Charlotte Kemp Muhl; and Ringo’s son Zak, who has drummed with the Who and others—are different kinds of musicians than their fathers. And it’s not just that the chemistry that made the Beatles what they were, as individuals and as a collective, existed in a certain time and place, both defining and being defined by the massive social changes that surrounded it. It’s also that the very men who should be protecting that legacy are talking, even in passing, about burlesquing it. Lorne Michaels should offer them a thousand dollars each to abandon the idea.

McCartney’s idea, as whimsical as anything his father ever dreamed up, suggests another topic: why music genes don’t seem to be inherited in the same way as, say, intelligence, or appearance. In 2005, Rolling Stone published a cover story called “The Children Of Rock” (“They Grew Up In the Shadow of Legends—and Lived To Tell the Tale”). Sean Lennon was pictured on the front cover, along with Alexandra Richards (daughter of Keith), Nona Gaye (daughter of Marvin), Ben Taylor (son of James and Carly), and James Garfunkel (clone/son of Art). At the time, most of them were considering music careers: a decade later, few are recording regularly, having decamped instead for careers in modelling (Richards), acting (Gaye), and business (Garfunkel).

The second generation shouldn’t be maligned for their choices, of course. As the article details, children of famous rock stars have it easy in some ways (money, mainly), but hard in others (tumultuous home lives, a close-up look at the displeasures of fame, and, most dominantly, the pressure of their parents’ achievement). And, while there are plenty of second-generation talents (Teddy Thompson, Rufus Wainwright, Joachim Cooder, Justin Townes Earle), the kids that succeed most commonly do so by marking off the difference between their career and their parents’ careers. (It’s a dynamic that allows the parents, then, to be respectful and supportive—at a recent show at City Winery, Richard Thompson lovingly invited Teddy onstage to sing a few songs with him, and the Wainwrights have collaborated together often.)

Ironically, although talent and drive may not be inherited, vocal quality often is. Taylor’s vocals can sound eerily like his father’s. (As do, say, Harper Simon’s, who is Paul’s son.) The most famous example of this, of course, is the Lennon example—not Sean, but Julian, John’s older son, who briefly became a star in the eighties with hits like “Too Late For Goodbyes” and “Valotte.” John Lennon’s assassination was still a recent memory, and Julian served, at the time, as a kind of psychic replacement. His career tapered off quickly after that, though he released an album last year titled “Everything Changes.” It hadn’t, and the album didn’t make much of an impression.

So here’s to hoping that the Beatles—The Next Generation never happens, for the sake of the Beatles, the Beatles—The Next Generation, and for the rest of us. Jakob Dylan, who is perhaps the most successful second-generation rock star, used to cover The Who’s “Won’t Get Fooled Again” onstage when his band the Wallflowers were a going concern. Let’s all take that lesson to heart.

Photograph of James McCartney by Dwayne Senior/Eyevine/Redux.

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